But it rather perplexed the little maiden when these same men, having been gifted with inquiring minds, puzzled themselves over the question why the Prince of the country in The Pilgrim’s Progress did not kill Apollyon at once and have done with him.
“Or make him good,” suggested Voalavo.
“True, that would have been better, perhaps, than killing him,” assented Razafil.
Like millions of the human race before them, the two men got out of their depth here; but unlike too many thousands of the same race, they did not permit such difficulties to interfere with their unshaken confidence in the love and wisdom of that God, who certainly “doeth all things well,” whatever we in our pride and partial ignorance may think of Him.
Voalavo’s studies on the day we write of did not however engross him so much as to prevent his starting up in great excitement when he heard the sound of Laihova’s voice. He hastened to the entrance of the cavern, and received his friend with his wonted effusive heartiness. But he was damped considerably on learning that Laihova came alone, that Mamba was enslaved, and that Ravonino and Rafaravavy were still wandering in the forest, pursued by their enemies.
“Come, my young men!” he shouted, flying into a sudden state of indignation, and clapping his hands together like a pistol-shot, “we will go and rouse our warriors. Arm, and make to the rescue! We will dethrone the Queen—this Ranavalona—usurper! Why should such a woman live on, filling the land with blood and misery!”
“My friend,” said Laihova, in a soothing tone, as he laid his hand on the chief’s shoulder, “the arms of Christians are not the arms of a soldier. We wrestle not against flesh and blood.”
“That is idle talk,” exclaimed the unpacified chief. “Did not Christian use a sword? Did not Greatheart fight Apollyon with a sword?”
“True, but these were spiritual weapons,” said Laihova. “Moreover, if you did rouse your people and march to the capital, what could you do? Your whole tribe would appear but as a handful of dust in the eyes of the Hova army.”
“I would that we were a handful of dust!” snorted the chief, “and we’d dash ourselves into the eyes of the Hova army and kill them while they wept!”